


The Monster I Think I Am

by BeanPie



Series: The Best of Them [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanPie/pseuds/BeanPie
Summary: Tyrion and Sansa discuss the future of their relationship. Sequel to ‘It Wouldn’t Work Between Us’. Spoilers for 8x03





	The Monster I Think I Am

Tyrion admired Sansa’s profile in the light of the dying fire. She had the sheets pulled right up to her chin, the dull Stark greys making her skin and hair luminous in contrast. He hadn’t slept in more than thirty six hours, and the soft mattress underneath him was so inviting, but he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off her.

His normally capable mind was utterly failing to make sense of this latest puzzle. Never before had a woman shared his bed who wasn’t being paid. And it wasn’t just anyone lying next to him; it was Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell. He could not fathom why such a beautiful and brilliant woman would be interested in him on merit alone. She had said he made her feel safe, which was a nonsense. He was almost entirely incapable of protecting her from any serious threats, no matter what he had sworn to do. Though, staring at her: the sweep of her lashes resting against her cheekbones, the mess of fiery curls that had been half pulled out of her braids, and the slight curve at the corners of her mouth, he knew that he would die before he let anything happen to her.

She opened one eye and trained it on his face. He was caught. “Are you watching me sleep?” she asked, tone somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“Well, that would require you to be asleep. Apparently, you are awake, so my watching you sleep would be quite impossible.”

Sansa pursed her lips and rolled to face him. “And what were you thinking about while you watched me lie here with my eyes closed?”

“I was wondering… what you imagined happening in our future.” It wasn’t a lie. So far, Tyrion had managed to avoid blurting out the full extent of his undying devotion to her, but he had spent most of their time together analysing everything she said to work out whether she might want any of the same things he did.

Sansa was quiet for some time, her eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder. Eventually, she said, “I hope this isn’t too forward…”

Tyrion laughed. “My lady, you are currently lying in my bed. I think the time for worrying about being too forward has passed.”

“Well it’s not exactly traditional for me to ask. But I was hoping you would marry me. Properly, this time. In the godswood.”

“I thought you still considered us married?” Tyrion said, reaching forward to play with a lock of her hair. He was thrilled to hear that Sansa wished to marry him again; it suggested she might be on board with some of his other plans too. But she had been calling him ‘husband’ all day.

“Yes, but I don’t know if we are, technically. In any case, I grew up imagining that I would get married in the godswood one day. And I want everyone to know that I’m your wife.”

Tyrion froze as the realisation dawned on him, and the joy that had been infusing every part of him since she had knocked on his door so many hours ago faded almost instantly. The puzzle suddenly made sense. He had watched Cersei make an art form of using what was between her legs to manipulate men. How could he have been so stupid as to fall for that trick too? “Do you want everyone to know, or do you want the Queen to know?”

“What do you mean?” Sansa said.

Tyrion rolled onto his back. “You know, if you wanted me on your side to score points against Daenerys, you need only have asked. I told you: I’m yours. This,” he gestured between them, “was not necessary to persuade me to support you.”

“Is that honestly what you think this was?”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “Please, my lady, I would endure anything for you. But I cannot bear for you to lie to me about this.” He should have known that this would happen. Tyrion Lannister: stupid and in love yet again, and this time he couldn’t even blame youth.

“You’re supposed to be clever,” Sansa said, sitting up and clutching the sheets to her. “If I was playing that game, why would I be begging you to marry me? Wouldn’t I need to be free to seduce other men into my service? Or did you think that you alone would be enough support for me to take the iron throne?” She threw her legs off the mattress and began trying to get up without revealing herself to him. “I don’t know what’s worse: how little you think of me, or how little you think of yourself.”

Tyrion half-jumped, half-fell out of the bed and ran around to her side, holding his hands up in a plea for her to stay. _This_ was why he had only ever been with whores; Sansa had been his for a matter of hours and already he had ruined everything. Of course what she was saying made sense; if he had taken two seconds to think about it before jumping to conclusions he would have seen it too. “Sansa, please, wait. You’re right. I’m sorry. I-“ She paused her fumbling for her clothes, but wrapped the grey blanket tighter around her, like armour. Tyrion bent his head and laid a hand gently on her knee. “I have spent all day trying to understand why you would ever be interested in me. I want you to be my wife more than anything I have ever wanted. I want to have children with you. I want to spend every day of my life with you. I just… can’t believe that you might want any of that too.”

He chanced a look at her eyes. They were entirely unreadable for entirely too long. And then her face softened. “How can I convince you that I love you?” she asked.

“You are quite right that I should have been the one to do this,” he said, dropping to one knee on the soft furs at her bedside. “Marry me, Lady Stark. Make me the happiest man in Westeros.”

Sansa took his face in both of her hands and kissed him sweetly. “Only Westeros?” she asked with a smile.

Tyrion stood to better reach her mouth. “I have heard tell of all manner of wondrous and enticing things in Asshai and the lands beyond. How am I to know if they could make a man happier? And I would never wish to lie to my wife.”

“I suppose honesty isn’t the worst quality for a husband to have,” Sansa said, folding herself near the head of the bed to give him space to join her. He clambered onto the mattress by her feet.

Sansa cocked her head to one side. “How did I end up completely naked, while you’re still half dressed?”

Tyrion was still wearing his once-white shirt, which covered him from neck to knee. “I’m being entirely selfish, I’m afraid. If I hadn’t spared you the sight of me, you would have fled from my bed.” He gave her a sardonic smile. “And I wasn’t about to give up the chance of a night with you.”

“Don’t do that,” she said, frowning.

“Do what?”

“And playing the fool isn’t a good look on you either.”

Tyrion winced. How had put his foot in it again so quickly? But then she held her arms out in invitation, and he moved to straddle her lap. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. “And I was ugly _before_ Ser Mandon took his blade to me.”

“I don’t think you’re ugly, Tyrion,” Sansa said sadly. She ran her fingers through his shaggy beard and smirked. “Though you’re looking a bit like a wildling at the moment.”

“I can shave it, if my lady wife desires.”

She tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Your lady wife desires you to take this off.”

Tyrion held her gaze, searching for any sign of malice in her request. Finding none, he sucked in a deep breath and pulled the shirt over his head. He clamped his eyes shut, not wishing to see her revulsion if Sansa couldn’t hide it from her face. She said nothing, but wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close enough to feel her soft skin against his. He rested his head on her shoulder and returned her embrace. The rise and fall of her chest soothed the anxiety racing through him, and eventually he opened his eyes.

“If this is going to work, you have to trust me,” she whispered into his ear.

“I do. _I do_ trust you. I just... need time to get used to it.”

Sansa yawned against his hair. They had both been awake for far too long. Tyrion lay down onto his back, pulling Sansa with him to rest her head on his chest and curl her body around him. Her breathing began to slow, and he didn’t think that he had ever known such contentment. If all of his days ended like this, he couldn’t wish for more.

“You never actually gave me an answer,” he said, voice low.

Her body jolted. “Hm?”

“Will you marry me?”

Sansa stretched, and then wrapped herself more tightly around him. Breathing, he decided, was overrated. “I asked you first,” she said, her voice slurred with sleep.

Tyrion chuckled. “True. Then yes, I will marry you Sansa Stark. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you’ve made me.” Sansa didn’t respond. Her head was heavy on his shoulder, and her breathing deep and even. He tried to stay awake, to savour the perfect moment, but soon slipped off to join her in sleep.

 


End file.
